


Love languages

by LadyEm



Series: The Spaces Between [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, mid season 8 episode 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 05:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18958693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyEm/pseuds/LadyEm
Summary: Brienne explores the meaning of a word.





	Love languages

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fic in many many years and my first for this fandom. I'm deep in season rewrites and fixes, but I wanted to start by exploring Brienne's feelings and how Jaime might respond to them.

Brienne of Tarth – _Ser Brienne_ – knew fucking. Oh, not from personal experience – not even from opportunity – but she had been around soldiers for long enough periods of her life that she’d heard about it, seen its aftermath – even seen people in the act, more than a few times. Fucking was messy – not just the act itself, but the consequences. Not only the threat of conception, but the friendships she had seen ended – sometimes fatally – over a bit of sweat and grunting. At least, that’s what she had thought – not only what she had told herself but what she had genuinely believed, until last evening.

Last evening, when she had let down her guard – focusing not what she thought she ought to be but on what she had wanted. Wanted fiercely, consumingly, wanted with every fibre of her being. She opened an eye and smiled at the sight of Ser Jaime – just Jaime now, she supposed – sound asleep beside her. Naked, in her bed, legs entwined with hers, a contented half-smile on his lips. Repose suited him, she mused – Jaime was so lively, always moving – but since he had come to Winterfell he had seemed calmer, more considered in his actions – and definitely happier, with his still-boyish grin that invited an echo from her own lips. After so long, she’d known his body almost as well as her own, but they had surprised her with the joy that they had created when their bodies came together.

That joy had surprised her. She’d expected sweat and grunting, a frenzied coupling. Their first kiss had been fierce and ferocious, a grapple for sovereignty. He’d calmed her like a wild horse – if you kissed wild horses into submission, which would be a rather odd way to train them now she thought about it – stroking her shoulders and back, steering the kiss from fight to celebration. He’d dotted tiny kisses on her mouth, on her cheeks, on her eyelids, returning to join her in a kiss that seemed to last for hours, before they had crashed onto her bed together and his kisses had moved lower, with clear intent.

Brienne had thought she knew fucking. But what she had seen, what she had heard, had had everything to do with cocks in cunts and nothing at all to do with the way Jaime’s mouth had surrounded her pebbled nipple – the way he had sucked on it, laved it with his tongue, blown gently across it with his warm breath. His tender exploration of her body, the kisses on her scars and bruises, all the way down her torso then down her left leg and up her right until he came to rest between her legs, and by then she knew no shame, she was open to him and his murmured “is this alright?” and then the bliss of his lips moving against her _there_ and the feeling of his stroking across her belly with his stump as he slid first one then two fingers inside her and all she could do was sigh as his lips wound her tighter and tighter until something tore lose from her in shuddering waves and his kisses slowed until she was done and he crawled back up the bed to kiss her with a mouth and tongue that still tasted of her and of him.

“Alright?” he asked her, and grinned that cocky grin, and ohhh she wanted to hit him with a clever comeback but she was warm and he was everywhere and she thought her bones might have turned to jelly so all she could do was smile and bridge the infinitesimal distance to his mouth and stroke her hands down his back and to his buttocks and really could there be finer buttocks anywhere in Westeros because they were warm and taut and the skin there was so, so soft and she honestly could not imagine why she had wasted so much time _not_ touching Jaime there until he purred and stretched and something bumped against her and she realized that Jaime’s arse was only one of his three best features and because she still had two hands and a mouth she was free to keep kissing him even as she explored the satiny smoothness of his cock with her hand, feeling it pushing into her. She could feel what worked, not only when it twitched in her hand but when Jaime missed a beat in their kiss, snatching a gasp as she felt the power of giving him that pleasure.

Brienne had thought she knew fucking but when it came down to it, the slide and thrust of Jaime’s taut body against her own – into her own – was nothing like those hasty couplings she had seen and heard. Their eyes were drawn to one another’s even as their gasps and moans overcame their kisses, she on her back amidst the furs, Jaime propped on his right arm, left arm roving her body until he brought it between them and his fingers – oh those beautiful fingers – pressed once, twice, and she saw stars and _Jaime’s eyes actually crossed_ as she clenched around him and he pumped into her in a frenzy before collapsing, spent, onto her body.

Brienne had thought she knew fucking but there was no hurried decoupling and throwing on of clothes and sneaking out of her room; instead, Jaime had murmured “Was that alright?” and she had smiled and stretched and pulled him close and kissed him to show him just how very alright it had been. And then he had purred, and she felt him harden inside her once again and this time it was different and slower and less frenzied and when she convulsed around him and he spent inside her he had tipped them sideways so that he lay on her right and stroked one hand along her flank. And then – and somehow this was both so very Jaime but also the last thing she would have expected – he snuggled his head into her neck and took her arm and draped it across him and then patted it and wrapped his good arm around her and fell soundly, deeply asleep. And he had moved sometime during the night, because when she woke the fire had been stoked and he had moved to her other side, but he hadn’t left, he was still there, surrounding her and holding her and maybe snoring just a little.

Brienne may have thought she knew fucking, but she had no idea what came next. He was still there, which she supposed was a good thing because what did you say to someone when you saw them in the dining hall the night after their tongue had been lighting up places you didn’t even know existed? At least they would get the embarrassment out of the way before they had to face anybody – and from what she had seen of the festivities last night, Winterfell was not likely to be busy this morning. And while it had been amazing, she certainly didn’t expect this to happen again, and she certainly wasn’t expecting him to _nuzzle_ her as he woke or to look at her with that enormous shit-eating grin, or to stroke her hair and kiss her forehead as though she was precious, or to purr as he stretched and kissed her lips, before pulling his head back and was that the slightest hint of a frown as he reached his hand – no, his stump up to stroke her forehead.

“You look worried,” he said with an air of concern. “Don’t. You were amazing. We were amazing.” He snuggled closer, as though any space between them offended him somehow, huffing at her continued expression of concern. He brought his hand up to cradle her cheek. “What is it? Tell me.”

She sighed. This was Jaime, who knew her better than perhaps anyone. The man who had knighted her, never mind what else he had done to – no, with her. The new Jaime, who listened rather than mocked.

“I don’t know what comes next. After the fucking.”

She felt his whole body tense, and rushed to continue, “What happens when we meet in the training yard, or …”

He reached a finger up to cover her lips, kissing her nose.

“First of all, my very dear Ser, there was no fucking here. Anyone can fuck, but in this bed – in this room –” he smirked at the long bench where she sat to remove her armour and oh how she wanted him right there – “we _made love_. And as to what happens next –” he arched against her so she could feel exactly how ready he was for a next – “I would very much like to make love with you again this morning, and again this evening, and any other time that you can accommodate in your Very Busy Winterfell Schedule” – his hand wandered down to her breast – “because I rather think –” he glided across her nipple – “that this was entirely wonderful. But if this is _not_ what you want, if _I_ am not what you want, then you need to tell me now because you are very dear to me and I would not lose our” – he paused – “friendship – even for this.” And somehow he had never been so very _Jaime Lannister_ – so arrogant and simultaneously so humble and self-deprecating – and the only thing she could do was to close the distance between them and try to show him – with her lips and her body – that he was also dear to her.

And as it happened, Ser Brienne of Tarth didn’t _need_ to know fucking at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! I have no beta but would welcome feedback as I am working on the next.


End file.
